Dancing Next To Me
by Pandora147
Summary: I can't wait for tomorrow just as long as you're dancing next to me. LinkxTracy future fluff. In dedication of 100 threads of FanFiction at the Zac Efron board at Fan Forum.


**DANCING NEXT TO ME**

**AN: **

Written in commemoration of the **one hundredth** thread of **FanFiction **at the **Zac Efron board** at Fan Forum. Here's to 100 more threads of Troy, Link, Patrick, Mike, Steven, Cameron, Richard, Charlie... the list shall go on and on.

This is pure **Tracy/Link** fluff. I'm new at this couple... Hairspray purists may be offended and wish I'd never ventured out of my HSM bubble. However it is done with good intent - in celebration of **Zachary** and the way that he inspires our creativity in so many ways.

**~ * ~ * ~**

The radio was blasting throughout the Larkin kitchen. This was commonplace, the Larkin household was filled with music. If its occupants weren't listening to the radio or playing their favourite records, they were watching American Bandstand, or perhaps they were singing in the shower – usually separately, but every so often if the mood struck them, it would be together. As she diced a tomato, her hips were swinging in time to the tune that was playing - _Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band._ Beatlemania had hit during Tracy's last year of high school and her early years of college, and to her boyfriend of the time's disgust, her bedroom which had once been a shrine to the Corny Collins show had as many Beatles pictures as Edna Turnblad would allow. Tracy reassured Link that he was the only man who truly mattered, and as such a framed picture of them taken together during the summer between junior and senior year had the coveted spot on her bedside table throughout her time living in her parent's house and then when she went away to college.

Even over the music she could hear the sound of Link's car pulling into the driveway of their modest two bedroom flat. She smiled, her winning Tracy Larkin smile which went from ear to ear. This was her favourite time of day. She and Link were building a life for themselves which was filled with many wondrous things; she loved her job, she still saw her parents regularly, they had a pet cat (a Persian named Fluffy) whom she adored. This boy had captured her heart as a teenager and her infatuation and adoration of him had not waned over the years, it had merely amplified as he'd matured into the wonderful man he was, and as such the knowledge that he was about to walk through the door sent her heart a flutter.

"Honey, I'm home," Link called through the doorway playfully. It was an inside joke between the couple. They were aware how domestic they had become, and in a world where free spirits and peace, love and happiness were common outlooks, their domesticity had become almost an uncommon way of life. However it worked perfectly for them. Tracy and Link had never been the type to conform to the norm; they'd always been somewhat against the status quo.

"I'm in the kitchen," Tracy called back.

Despite all her mother's cooking lessons, Tracy wasn't the world's greatest chef. Link insisted that she didn't need to prepare him dinner, that they could cook together once he got home. Sometimes she would listen and allow him to take over, but a lot of the time she tried her best. It was only practical, she was home from her work two hours before him and why should he come home and have to keep working when she could easily have things under control? And so she was pleased that so far, the meal was going off without a hitch and the timing was perfect.

Link's warm arms wrapped around her from behind, and he stooped down to nuzzle into her neck, pressing a loving kiss to the soft flesh below her ear.

"Smells good," he murmured.

"Thank you," Tracy said, pleased with herself. "There isn't long to go, this Bolognese sauce is nearly done and the pasta is almost ready too."

"Hmm I wasn't talking about the food that smells good darlin', although now that you mention it, that also smells delightful."

Tracy giggled. "You're such a flatterer, Link Larkin."

"Only with you Trace, only with you."

He leaned over, a finger swooping into the pan to take a sampling of the sauce.

"Hey!" Tracy reprimanded.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself. That is good," he complimented.

"Why don't you fix yourself a drink and sit down, this is just a few minutes away."

Link pulled himself way from her embrace, about to comply, but then came back to stand by her side. "I believe we forgot something."

Confusion filled Tracy's features. "We did?"

He nodded, and leaned down to brush his lips against hers in a soft kiss. "Hello," he murmured, his breath tickling against her ear.

"Hello you," she responded, a smile playing on her face.

"I really missed you today," Link murmured. "I could hardly concentrate. Something tells me it might have something to do with your impromptu good morning wake-up call this morning."

Tracy smirked, recalling Link's struggle to drag himself out of bed and her efforts to wake him up being a first thing of the morning make out session, morning breath and all. Just as he'd 'woken up' in more ways than one, she cut it short insisting that neither of them wanted to be late to work.

"Well a woman has to be creative when her husband is ignoring the alarm clock," Tracy pointed out.

"A wife should never tease her husband and leave him longing her touch all day," Link said.

His hands were resting on his wife's hips and snaking up, pushing her blouse up a little with them. She gasped as his lips came down to kiss her neck and suckled slightly. She slapped his hands away.

"Li-ink," she whined, and chided him. "Not now. Later. Dinner will burn. I told you, make a drink, it won't be far away."

"I'll be holding you to that later," he said with a wink.

~ * ~

Link played down his intelligence in high school, hiding behind the guise that he was merely a crooner. However one day Tracy had uncovered the lyrics he'd written – poetry, really – and she'd pushed him to share it with Miss Shirley. It was the first step in a series of changes in Link's life direction. Despite the local kudos for being lead dancer on the Corny Collins show, no record deals or Broadway offers had fallen into his lap and so off to college it had been where he'd found himself studying journalism and taking advantage of the revolutionary time that was the 1960's had been a time of revolution. Pop culture, arts and entertainment were dominant and youth were fighting to have their own voice . Technology had developed and meant putting your thoughts into print was easier than ever before and newspaper publications – some legitimate, some underground – were widespread. The result was having ample opportunity to hone his journalistic skills – he wasn't destined to write the great American novel but there was something about expressing a message in a shot and succinct way that appealed to Link – in many ways it was like the messages one would try to capture in a three minute song. And as such, he'd found a way to fuse his never waning love of music and newfound love of writing together, heading the music and entertainment section of the most prominent student newspaper in Washington DC. And his girlfriend Tracy – who was attending school in Baltimore an hour away, working toward achieving her teaching certification – could not have been more proud.

He'd proposed during their senior year of college, they'd moved in together after graduating (to the shock of Tracy's parents) and married in the fall in a leafy mid afternoon ceremony with close family and friends. Eighteen months later and the honeymoon period may have settled but the adoration was just as raging as ever. No matter how busy either of them were with work, they would sit down together and have a meal at least once a day, usually two and it wasn't unknown that Link would head out in his lunch break during his day working at one of Baltimore's most preeminent newspapers to join Tracy in the elementary school classroom where she taught third grade, eating the sandwiches she'd made for them that morning together. They both loved their work, but they loved each other more, and so their domesticated existence was the perfect way to come home and simply exist within one another's company.

After dinner, Link sat on the sofa and watched the evening news while his wife stood beside him ironing their clothes that she'd washed the day before. He helped out by folding the items as she finished ironing them – just one of their many routines that they'd perfected since living together. The first time he'd offered to help and fold, she'd stood giggling as he couldn't work out how on earth she managed to get his shirts folded the way she did and she'd had to provide instruction. He'd become an expert over time though.

She left Link with his scotch on the rocks and Star Trek – which she failed to comprehend the appeal of herself, but Link adored – whilst she showered. Her night time routine had cut down since she'd adopted her more recent hair style, being that she'd grown her hair, wearing it long and straight. They were more conservative than some she knew who were almost always barefoot, one of the women she knew even refused to wear a bra. She returned to the lounge room in her nightdress and dressing gown just as Star Trek had finished and Link was returning his glass to the kitchen sink.

"I won't be long," he informed her, pressing a light kiss to her forehead.

She nodded, and returned to the lounge room to tidy up, taking Link's newspaper away, picking up his shoes and socks that he'd taken off and left lying on the carpet. She wasn't feeling anywhere close to tired yet but wasn't interested in anything that was on television and so she switched it off and instead turned to the record player. There was a bounce to her step, a swing to her hips, as she hummed along and danced around the room with a feather duster in hand.

"Just like that first day when I saw you slapping your behind, darlin'."

She spun around, her lips upcurving at the sight of him. She loved night time after Link got out of the shower. She would never forget that first day she saw a dishevelled Link. They'd made plans to study for an upcoming history test at his house on a Saturday morning, and he'd overslept. She arrived to a sleepy eyed Link in his flannel pyjamas, hair dry and unruly and unkempt. He was mortified, like a girl found at her house with a mud mask and slices of cucumber over her eyes, but it only served to compound Tracy's feelings for him. It didn't matter what he was wearing, whether his hair was out of place – he was still Link, and she loved him simply for being Link. And now that they were married, she got to see that side of Link every day. The Link who emerged from his nightly shower, towel dried his hair and then simply left it be.

Many things had changed over the years in terms of popular culture and fashion and societal attitudes, but come 9am the next morning and Link would be dressed in a nicely pressed suit and his hair would be hair sprayed meticulously with a rigid side part, rebelling against the trend of mop tops and bell bottoms. But for now, Link was _hers_ and hers alone; hair soft so she could run her delicate fingers through the strands, a slight stubble on his face, wearing his favourite pair of navy plaid pyjamas which had a hole at the inner leg seam which she continually mended and it continually split, Link refusing to part with the comfortable pants.

He stepped over to her, hands resting on her hips and drawing her close to him. "I love watching you dance," he murmured.

"How long were you watching?" she asked, blushing slightly.

"Not too long. Couldn't help but interrupt, I wasn't gonna be able to keep my hands off you, darlin'." He took her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to press a soft kiss to the back of her palm. "Dance with me?"

She beamed happily. "Of course."

It was one of the most wonderful feelings in the world to be pressed up tightly to her husband, swaying backwards and forwards in their living room. They could be doing the waltz or the samba or the foxtrot or one of the many dances they'd learned over the years. But instead, they chose to simply mould together; arms holding each other close, Tracy's head resting against his hard chest, rocking in time to the music. His hands had been still on her waist, but then gradually they began to move, trailing a smooth path rubbing over the material of her bathrobe. She shivered involuntarily, not shivering because it was cold but rather shivering because she was actually starting to feel a little warm. She let go of him long enough to shrug the bathrobe from her shoulders and toss it into the couch, murmuring an explanation to him that she was warm. He wasn't about to complain about his wife discarding a layer, certainly not whilst in the mood he'd been in all day.

"Trace?" he murmured, hands roaming with less discretion and with more intent.

"Mmm?" she replied, eyelids fluttering. It didn't matter how many times they did this, she would never fail to be utterly blown away by the sensations that Link had the ability to send coursing through every fibre of her being.

Without speaking, his head dropped to press a zealous kiss to her lips. They'd given up the pretences of dancing, his hands were undoing the handful of buttons at the top of her nightdress to give him access to the ample flesh of her breast. Her own hands were kneading at his buttocks through the flannel of his pyjamas. He began to guide her in the direction of their bedroom, the door being kicked open and the couple collapsing onto the navy comforter without having broken the familiar, lingering kiss. He found his way to his favourite place, hovering over her.

"I thought we were dancing?" Tracy murmured, gasping as he nibbled at the flesh of her milky white bosom which he'd exposed by pulling down her nightgown.

"We will be," he said teasingly.

Her fingers raked through the now dry and wild tresses of his dark brunette locks, whimpering in response to his ministrations.

"Do you think you and I will always dance? Even when we're old and have grey hair and I've had your babies?"

His head lifted, bright azure eyes gazing adoringly down at her as she looked at him questioningly.

"In one way or another, you and I will always be dancing, Trace."

"Promise?"

He nudged his nose against hers lightly before initiating a deep and lingering kiss and declaring huskily, "Promise. You and me Trace, we'll be dancing forever."

**~ * ~ * ~**

"_**All those nights together, our special memory."**_

"_**I can't wait for tomorrow just as long as you're dancing next to me." **_

– **Come So Far (Got So Far To Go); Hairspray Soundtrack**


End file.
